As Seen In Movies
by Yvetta
Summary: Sequel to As Seen on TV. The boys have a series of unfortunate run-ins with more villains.
1. Chapter 1

Note: This is the long-awaited sequel to "As Seen on TV" (I was probably the only one waiting for it, but that's neither here nor there). I'll be making some references to that story, but you can probably catch on without having read it if you really don't want to.

I don't know where the writers of the show are going with Sam's "abilities," but I'm keeping the vision thing around for this story. So I guess that means it's set pre- season 3.

Also, here's the usual disclaimer: I don't own anything that's worth money, especially not ANY of the characters I'm using here.

ENJOY!

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"It feels _so_ good to get that cast off,"Dean Winchester said with a wide smile as he and his brother entered their motel room. "It's still a bit sore and rubbery, but it's infinitely better." He was stopped in his ramblings by a hand on his forehead. "Dude, what gives?" he growled, pushing Sam away from him and glaring.

"You just used the word 'infinitely' in a sentence," Sam snarked back. "Clearly you're sick."

Dean rolled his eyes and dropped onto his back on his bed. "Anyway," he went on, refusing to let his little brother spoil his good mood, "I'm glad we put that whole experience behind us."

"Says you," Sam griped. "Bobby still thinks I was completely drunk . . . or stoned."

"I can't believe you told him."

"We were being attacked by villains from horror movies and you were unconscious! What was I supposed to do?"

"Oh, I don't know – kill the bad guys?"

Sam huffed characteristically and sat down on the bed closest to the door. "Which I eventually did. And you and Bobby ended up not being any help at all."

"Are you kidding? I played the distraction for a long time. Broken ankle, remember?"

"I was sliced up and had a concussion."

"So was I."

"Yeah, well I –"

"It's not a contest , Sam."

Sam rolled his eyes. "At least it's all behind us."

Dean looked sharply at his brother. "Why would you say that? Haven't you ever heard of a jinx?"

The younger hunter refrained from answering, and instead flipped open his laptop. "So we had a nice long break while recovering from the last hunt," he announced unnecessarily, more to change the subject than for any real conversational usefulness. "We should get right back in it."

"Yeah, as soon as we find a hunt, we can –"

"I have one."

Dean's mouth closed slowly, and he raised an eyebrow. "You have one?"

"I've been bored, Dean. What do you think I've been doing the whole time we were here?"

"Oh, I don't know. I kind of thought you might be recuperating, too."

"Recuperating?"

"It's when people relax to heal and –"

"I know what it means," Sam interrupted. "I just can't believe you said it. You've been using words that are generally way outside of your limited vocabulary." He blinked a few times as he felt a sharp pain shoot between his eyes.

"I wasn't aware that you were keeping track of all of the words in my vocabulary," Dean answered without looking over.

"It's just that you normally don't use words like that when you aren't drunk."

"So what's this case you have?"

Sam wrinkled his nose to try to stave off his headache as he explained. "Whenever people pass through a certain road at a certain time of night, they disappear."

Dean waited for more, but it seemed the younger hunter was done for a while. "And?" he prompted.

"And what? They disappear."

"I'm sure there must be more to this story than you're telling me, Sammy."

"It's Sam," came the abrupt reply. "These people drive down this road and then they don't come out. When others go looking for them, they usually find a broken down car and no sign of the people themselves. No blood, no struggle, no nothing. But it's always the same situation."

"Why is this our kind of job? It sounds like people just run away."

Sam shook his head and regretted it instantly as the growing migraine threatened to hit him full force. "What are the odds that their car breaks down in the exact same place, at the same time of night? And they just decide to walk into the woods and never come back?"

Dean pondered for a few minutes, then finally admitted to himself that it would be worth looking into. He was about to open his mouth to say something when Sam continued.

"We should at least try; I mean, we're here to save people from . . ." The young Winchester trailed off, pain coming back and filling his whole head this time.

"From what?" his brother asked, finally sparing a glance at Sam, whose hand had gone to the bridge of his nose as if to press a pounding migraine away. "Sam?" he questioned, instantly alert as he recognised the signs of a vision. He swung himself to his feet and dropped to his knees next to the bed just as the younger hunter gasped and collapsed in a fetal position on the floor.

Waiting was the worst part about these things. Dean sighed and left one hand on Sam's shoulder so the other hunter would subconsciously be aware that he wasn't alone, but in the end there wasn't a thing he could do to help.

"Ow," Sam muttered as he started to come out of the vision. "I hate that."

"What did you see?" Dean asked eagerly.

Sam's eyes fluttered to his brother, where they locked gazes, and then dropped. "You don't want to know," he said finally.

"I don't want to know? How could I not want to know?"

"Because you're just going to get upset."

"I'm not going to get upset, Sam. You know I don't think these visions are your fault."

"You will."

"No I won't. I promise."

Taking a deep breath, Sam looked up again. "It was Michael Myers."

There was a second of silence, almost long enough for Sam to feel relief that his brother wasn't mad, and then Dean exploded. "What?!"

Sam shrugged and began to climb back to his bed.

"It took us _forever_ to get rid of Myers!" Dean snapped. "Couldn't you have dreamed up the return of anyone else? Have a vision about someone else? Hm?"

Suddenly Sam felt an all-too familiar throbbing behind his eyes again. "Why'd you have to say that out loud?" he muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose in a futile effort to stop the vision from hitting him. He noticed his brother didn't look at him as images, sounds, and people flooded his brain. He managed a soft whimper as darkness closed in and he collapsed bonelessly.

Dean didn't even look over until his peripheral vision caught movement – a large man falling on top of him. Before he could even process that it was his little brother, his reflexes had him twisting out of the way. He managed to realise it was Sam just in time to put his arms out to break his fall. He caught his brother around the torso with one arm, and Sam's head bounced on the ground, causing the elder Winchester to wince in sympathy for him. Sitting on the ground, his gargantuan little brother sprawled across his lap, Dean knew it was going to be a long day.

He never should have gotten out of bed that morning.

And he had a feeling the next few days weren't going to be any better.


	2. Chapter 2

Sam awoke without so much as a groan, sitting straight up in bed. He was fully alert, his senses telling him something was wrong. The hunter glanced around the room – their most recent motel room, he noted – before his eyes rested on Dean, who was lying on the other bed, staring at the TV screen, watching . . . Lifetime? Sam opened his mouth to say something when the screen suddenly went black.

"Morning, Sasquatch," Dean said, sitting up and tossing the remote aside.

"Morning?"

"Yes, morning. It's morning now."

"I don't remember going to bed."

"Well, you kind of did it without a lot of warning, so I'm not surprised. How's your head?"

"Fine. Why?"

Dean's eyes narrowed. "Dude, don't you remember anything about yesterday afternoon?"

Sam took a deep breath, trying to concentrate. He thought back. "I remember coming back from getting your cast off, and telling you about the hunt, and having a vision . . ." His eyes went wide and he looked at his brother. "And then having another vision," he finished lamely. "Please tell me all of that was a dream and I actually got drunk last night."

"Nope. Besides, you remember everything you do while you're drunk."

The younger hunter sighed, eyes uncomfortably roaming the room. "I was afraid of that."

"So what was the second vision about?"

"It doesn't matter."

"It doesn't _matter_?" Dean repeated.

"Were you watching a chick flick when I woke up?" Sam asked abruptly.

"Of course not," Dean answered a bit too quickly. "I wouldn't do something like that. The very idea is insulting."

The corner of Sam's mouth quirked into a grin. "You _were_! I'm never going to let you live that one down."

"Don't change the subject. Tell me about your second vision."

There was a moment of silence, and Dean figured his brother was gathering his thoughts about the vision, when Sam's voice suddenly cut in – "What's for dinner? Or breakfast, I guess. I'm hungry."

"You're trying to change the subject again."

"I _am_ hungry, Dean. You probably don't know what it feels like; you spend most of your time cramming food in your mouth and there's no way you could stop long enough to experience hunger."

The elder Winchester wrinkled his nose in disgust, then rolled his eyes. "Just tell me about the vision and I promise I'll get you food."

Sam huffed. "Fine. It was about this girl who drives down that road I was telling you about. She disappears. Whatever coincidentally keeps making people 'run away' out there seems to get her, too. Her car breaks down and she gets really scared."

"Did you get coordinates or a date or something? How are we supposed to know where to find her? And what gets her?"

"That's the problem, Dean. It's not what. It's who."

"Who? Like, as in, a regular human person?"

"Actually, not really."

"What do you mean,' not really'? Is it or isn't it a person?"

"Yes."

Dean threw up his hands in frustration. "Yes it is, or yes it isn't? Can you give me a straight answer before we start quoting Clue the movie and arguing over whether you said no meaning yes?"

"I'm sorry, Dean! It's both! I don't know what you want me to say! I mean, every time I have a stupid vision of Michael Myers, really strange people start showing up."

Suddenly, realisation dawned. "Did you dream up another horror movie character?"

"I didn't _dream_ anything up. It just happens and there's nothing I can do to control it."

"I knew it. I knew I shouldn't have gotten out of bed. Who is it? Freddy? Jason?"

Sam licked his lips and let his eyes wander the entire room before centering on his expectant older brother. "No."

"No? You have _another_ one?"

"You keep making this sound like it's my fault."

Dean took a deep breath to steady himself. "You know I don't think your visions are your fault. It's just that I really think I need to know what we're dealing with before we start dealing with it. My last introduction to some of your visions were a little more abrupt than I would have wanted."

"Yeah, I'm sorry about that."

"Just tell me some more details from the vision and we'll call it good."

"I've never seen him in a movie before and I don't know who the guy is. That's part of the reason I'm not sure if he's completely human or not. One thing I do know is that he's psychotic."

"Can't you tell me an more than that?"

"I know there's a girl out there who's about to get killed by some freakish guy if we don't do something."

"Is she hot?"

"Dean –" Sam began, rolling his eyes.

Dean grabbed his keys. "Say no more. Just lead the way."

Twenty minutes later, the Winchesters stood on a road that seemed almost abandoned, judging from the weeds and grass that sprouted in the cracks of the pavement. There were trees and overgrowth on either side of the road, blocking the view of anything else. Dean checked the time on his cell phone, as though he knew at exactly which moment the woman should be driving by. Bored after only ten seconds of standing and waiting, he turned to engage himself in one of his favorite pastimes – annoying his brother.

However, he stopped almost immediately when he realised Sam was wandering around, looking for clues as to the identity of the psychotic man that was killing innocent people. "Find anything?" he asked.

"Nothing," the younger hunter murmured back. "I mean, there's not even a sign of a scuffle. It's like the victims go willingly. Why would they do that?"

"I have no idea, Sherlock. Why _would _they do that?"

Sam paused to glare at his older brother before continuing his scouring of the area. He'd walked only a few feet when he heard the sound of a car engine, and his head whipped up to look at Dean, who had also heard the noise and was heading for the trunk of the car.

"Where are you going?" Sam asked.

"She's not going to feel very happy about us helping her if we're just standing around. Good Samaritans don't do that."

"So what's the plan, then?"

"We're going to look like we're changing our tire." By then, he had the trunk open and shoved the tire iron at Sam's chest. "Go look busy."

Snorting his disbelief but still accepting the feasibility of Dean's plan, Sam bent down next to the back passenger side of the car and pretended to be finishing up the work of changing the tire. Just then, an old car rounded the bend and came toward the brothers. As it neared them, a clunking sound filled the air and the engine sputtered and died.

"It creeps me out how you do that," Dean said as his brother stood to look back at the car.

"Do what?"

"Predict exactly what's going to happen and where."

"It creeps _you_ out? How do you think _I_ feel?"

They walked slowly back to the other car, where a petite, strawberry-blond-haired girl was getting out. She was probably only a teenager still, wearing a fancy peach dress. She looked like she was either just coming from a party or just going to one. Sam stopped dead in his tracks when his eyes lit on her.

"What's wrong?" Dean asked, glancing back at his brother, though the girl took it as a question to her.

"She looks familiar, Dean," Sam muttered so the girl couldn't hear him. "And it's not a good familiar. I think I've seen her somewhere before."

"I seem to be having car trouble," the girl was saying as Dean brushed his brother off. "Everything has been going wrong the last couple of days."

"Good thing we showed up, then," Dean said, grinning slightly. "I'm Dean."

The girl looked at his hand before reaching out and taking it. "Nice to meet you, Dean," she answered with a glint in her eye that made Sam uncomfortable. "My name is Carrie."

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NOTE: Bonus points to everyone who is gets the last line in this chapter. For those who don't get it, it probably isn't much of a cliffhanger to you. Just remember that I am not making up any original characters up for this story. I don't own ANYTHING.


	3. Chapter 3

"Dean, I feel really uncomfortable right now. Thanks for caring," Sam muttered under his breath as Carrie came forward to greet him. He shook her hand to be civil and was surprised when she didn't let go. "What?" he asked, finally meeting her eyes.

"You didn't tell me your name," she said, almost accusingly.

"Sam," he spat out, wondering why the look in her eyes was making his skin crawl.

As a shock to his little brother, Dean had moved on to the car itself, his instincts working on finding the problem as quickly as possible. "Can you pop the hood?"

"Sure," Carrie answered, ripping her gaze away from Sam and moving back toward her car. "You know, you really don't have to do this."

"It's no problem," Dean said. "We were out here, anyway."

"Were you having car trouble, too?"

"Surprisingly, yes,"Dean responded. We had a flat tire and we were just changing it. But we were kind of under the impression this road wasn't used very often, so it surprised us when we saw you."

"I can't believe my good fortune, then," she said. "Maybe even destiny had something to do with bringing you here to help me at this time." She smiled sweetly and Dean, who was always a sucker for a girl's smile, soaked it up.

Sam, meanwhile, had backed up to the Impala during this exchange. Something was really bothering him and he couldn't put his finger on it. Standing next to the car he usually called home, he watched the conversation between Carrie and his brother with distaste. If only he knew what was wrong! So powerful was his concentration on them, that he never heard someone come up behind him until they put their hand on his shoulder.

The youngest Winchester whirled around in surprise, knocking the hand away and readying himself for a fight. Instead, he found an older man looking concerned. "You folks having some trouble?" he asked in a decidedly rural drawl.

"We're doing okay, thanks," Sam said quickly, his uncomfortable feeling rising with every minute. A glance behind showed that Dean and Carrie were still deep in conversation. He almost growled something under his breath about Dean using his upstairs brain once in a while, but decided against it when he looked back at the man who was engaging him in conversation.

"I can help you if you need it. I used to run the last gas station around these parts," the man continued. "I know a thing or two about cars."

"My brother and I can fix the lady's car, but thanks," the hunter returned, every one of his instincts telling him to run the other way. That instinct was rejected, however, when he remembered that Carrie was the other way. This creepy guy was probably the lesser of two evils.

The man's eyes narrowed. "You obviously need help, son," he said, more as a statement of fact than any sort of question. "I'm going to help you, but you have to come with me."

Sam took a step back and suddenly realised that another man was behind him. Before he could turn, he found himself engulfed in arms far stronger than he was and then the forest began to blur around him, fading into darkness.

-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --

Dean was very patiently listening to Carrie explain her story. She was talking about what a horrible week she'd had. Her friends apparently weren't very nice, and she had a terrible relationship with her mother. He thought she was going to burst into tears and cry on his shoulder, but Sam would have been so much better at the comforting thing than he was. Speaking of which, where was the kid? He glanced back but couldn't find his brother anywhere. Carrie stiffened.

"Dean, are you even listening to me?" she asked, more sharply than he would have expected.

The hunter's head swivelled immediately back to her, remembering how uncomfortable Sam had been. "Of course I am," he insisted. "But what happened to Sam?"

She, too, looked around the abandoned road. "I don't know. He seemed antsy. I'm sure he just went for a walk to cool off."

"I guess so," Dean muttered, not really believing what he was hearing but not having any argument against it. "Although that's not really like him."

"You both are nice guys," she said, her comment mostly having nothing to do with their conversation.

The hunter stared at her, her eyes boring into him, and suddenly he had two startling realisations: 1) Carrie was freaky beyond most other girls he'd ever come across, and 2) she bore a striking, uncanny, and really disturbing resemblance to Sissy Spacek. The combination of these two thoughts washed over Dean with such ferocity that he almost turned and ran screaming back to his beloved car. But Carrie would probably kill him and he would still have no idea what happened to Sam. Plus, at some horrific moment, Michael Myers could wander out of the forest and be foreboding and evil again. He shuddered.

"Are you okay?" Carrie asked, concern in her tone.

"Uh, yeah. Yeah, I am. I was just thinking that . . ." he trailed off, then noticed her car, and grinned, ". . . that I should fix your car right now. I mean, I'm sure you have places to be and I'd hate to keep you out here when you could be doing something productive."

"This is productive. I'm making friends."

Dean forced his already fake smile to remain plastered on his face. "Indeed, indeed. But let me fix that tire for you, anyway."

"There's nothing wrong with my tires," Carrie insisted. "My car died. You were the one changing your tire."

"Oh yeah, that's right," Dean went on, knowing he was really messing up the situation at this point but wanting to be with his brother right now – anywhere else. "I must be tired out – no pun intended."

The girl laughed at his ridiculous joke and smiled, fluttering her eyes. The elder Winchester knew he was in big trouble. Carrie, if she was anything like the psychotic and telekinetic character from the movie, was not someone he should make angry. She already seemed to have something against Sam, which was understandable enough – Sam didn't have half of Dean's looks or charm, and –

No, seriously, he needed to concentrate. Before he realised what he was doing, Dean found himself leaning over the engine in Carrie's car, hands automatically roaming over familiar parts as though he was diagnosing the problem. In reality, he was plotting his escape.

"Can you fix it?" came the now-dreaded feminine voice, breaking into his thoughts.

"Of course I can," he answered without looking up. "I can fix anything on four wheels."

"You must be very handy to have around," she said with a small giggle.

"I guess so."

"And your brother? What does he bring to the table?"

Dean ripped his head up so fast he smacked it into the hood of the car, one hand instantly moving to the sore spot. "What?"

"What does your brother do?"

"How did you kn ow we're brothers?" Dean asked suspiciously.

Carrie blinked in surprise, as though just figuring out that she had made a mistake. "You look quite similar. I guess I was just assuming . . ."

"It's okay," he assured her, trying to keep his cool.

"So why do you keep your brother around? Is he as useful as you are?"

Not having any idea where she was going with this but not caring because she seemed to be insinuating insults against Sam, Dean snapped, "Of course he is. The kid's a friggin' genius and quick on his feet. He's sort of what you'd call the 'brains' of the operation."

"And you'd be the brawn?"

"Why all the questions?" the hunter asked, stuffing himself back under the hood so he could again ponder his escape.

"I just want to get to know my new friend," Carrie said. "I like you a lot."

"Okay, where's Sam?" Dean growled loudly, slamming the hood down with a force that made the girl jump.

"I told you, I don't know –"

"I know what you said, you demonic little witch," he interrupted. "What have you done with my brother?"

A few seconds of silence went by, as Carrie's eyes narrowed dangerously. "This is almost a shame," she said calmly. "And for a while there, I thought we were going to be friends."

"Where's Sam?" Dean hissed again.

"I honestly don't know," she replied coldly. "But it doesn't matter because you'll be dead before he ever finds you again."

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NOTE: I am really, REALLY sorry for the delay. As usual, I have a long list of valid but useless excuses as to why this has taken me so long to get up. I can only hope that someone out there still cares about the story. Thanks in advance, and I'll try to be more consistent with posting!


	4. Chapter 4

When Sam woke up and knew instinctively that he was not in a friendly environment, he expected the usual pounding in his head or nausea or pain to hit him almost immediately. He became concerned when it didn't, and figured he had been drugged. What had they given him? The last thing he could remember was talking to an old man, and then getting dragged away, but there was time for someone to have injected him with something. He probably wasn't even tied up because he'd be helpless from the drugs. Probably couldn't move his arms, but he figured he might as well give it a shot. His limbs easily and quickly obeyed his commands.

All of this took far too long to sink in, but when it did, Sam felt both relieved and troubled at the same time. He was relieved to know he wasn't drugged. His lack of pain suggested that he hadn't been beaten into submission. He was troubled that this meant he had merely passed out (surely there was a good reason for it, though – Winchesters don't pass out for nothing). The lack of rope or chains tying him down indicated someone either very stupid or demented. Perhaps both.

At any rate, he glanced around and found himself laying on a couch. The upholstery was ripped and peeling away from the frame of the furniture, and the rest of the room was not in much better condition. The people who lived here apparently didn't care about their surroundings because nothing looked like it had been taken care of in decades. If he hadn't known any better, he would have assumed no one lived in this house. Then again, he had only been in this one room.

Unless he was completely mistaken, he had been taken here against his will, and yet no one seemed inclined to keep him there. That bugged Sam so much he decided against escaping immediately, instead wondering where he was and what he was doing there. He figured he could always walk out later. First, he would have to explore the place. He started heading for the only door in the room.

His thoughts were interrupted by the floor squeaking outside of the room, as though someone was out there waiting for him, and he froze in his tracks. Now that he had time to rethink his situation, walking out right away didn't seem as bad of an idea. In fact, it was sounding better and better as the seconds went by. The only bad part was that he had to go by whoever was in the hallway in order to get there. Besides, he had no clue where the front door was.

"Is anyone there?" he called out, hoping it would be a nice little old lady who had let him lay on her couch out of the goodness of her sweet little old heart while he recuperated from passing out.

Sam received laughter in response. Only this wasn't amused laughter. This was crazed, maniacal laughter. Little old ladies didn't laugh like that.

"Uh oh," he whispered.

-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --

Carrie's eyes showed clearly her anger at being accused of doing something to Sam. Dean tried to back away from her but succeeded only in tripping over the front of the car, landing in an undignified heap on the ground. He was trying to pick himself up when he saw movement out of the corner of his eye. It was a boot coming out of the trees. Normally this would have made him happy, but he would know that boot anywhere and he did NOT want to deal with the owner of the boot. He got up and tried to run forward, again tripping over the hood of the car and this time crashing into Carrie.

"What's wrong with you, you idiot?" Carrie grumbled as she shoved him off of her.

"Uh, I'm more afraid of him than I am of you," Dean admitted, getting back to his feet and attempting to run for the Impala.

"Of who?" he heard behind him, and nodded when he heard her gasp. "Who is that?"

"Carrie, meet Michael Myers," the hunter announced without slowing down. "We've already met once." He glanced backward, belatedly remembering that the horror villain is always right behind people when they do that, and narrowly avoided getting his throat slit by ducking Myers' knife.

"Oh, come on," he whined. "Why don't you feel like attacking her?"

"How dare you?" Carrie seethed. "We could have been friends!"

"Can we have the relationship talk later?" Dean asked, diving forward and heading to where she was still sitting on the ground. "I promise to make time for it."

She only glared dolefully as he approached, holding his hand out to help her up. "Get away from me," she snapped.

"Fine," he groused, turning back to face his old enemy. "Mikey," he said cheerfully, putting his arms out in a gesture to say he was unarmed and helpless, "It's been a while, hasn't it? You look good. I couldn't help but notice you have a head."

Obviously there was no answer from Michael Myers. Carrie, however, had no problems voicing her opinion as she got to her feet. "You're psychotic," she announced.

"_I'm_ psychotic? Dude, you kill people with your mind when you get mad!" It was at that moment that his brain finally got the message that irritating Carrie while Michael Myers was trying to kill him was an especially bad idea. "Oh, oops," he said aloud.

"Oops?" Carrie repeated dumbly. "Oops what?"

"Oops I shouldn't be ticking you off. What do you say to having bygones be bygones?"

"No!" she shouted, rage creasing her features. She took a step away from him and stared angrily. Dean knew something bad was about to happen but didn't want to spare the time to think about it when he knew Michael Myers was about to stab him in the back. He rolled to one side just as one of the car doors was ripped from the body of the car and thrown at the place where he was standing. Luckily, Michael Myers really was about to stab him in the back, and took the full impact of the car door.

Dean rolled back to his feet and took in the scene. Myers was angry. Really angry. Dean had only seen him this angry once before, and it resulted in a long fight between him and Freddy Krueger. Carrie looked shocked at her miss, and was staring at the undead zombie that was currently climbing to his feet and glowering at her.

"This could be very good," Dean said, softly this time, so he didn't disrupt the situation.

Myers approached the surprised girl quickly, bringing his knife arm down toward her. Just before it hit her, though, Myers suddenly flew backward through the air and hit the ground with a thud. "Don't touch me," Carrie hissed at his rising form.

"Definitely good," Dean said quietly, then backed away. "Uh, I'm just going to go find Sam while you two sort this out. Good luck." Then he turned and ran into the forest, praying he could find some sort of sign as to where his brother had disappeared to.

-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --

NOTE: I hope nothing about this chapter was too confusing. Don't worry; Sam and Dean won't be staying separated for too long. And there are plenty more horror movie villains waiting for their turn!


	5. Chapter 5

Dean realised after only a few moments of running that he had no idea where he was going, and turned reluctantly back to where he had left his old nemesis and an enraged telekinetic woman fighting. Sam had last been seen at the Impala and that was where he had to start looking. It struck him then that the stories his brother had been telling him about the people going missing without a trace of a fight or blood or anything must have been true. And it was clear at this point that the youngest Winchester was the next victim.

Dean made it back to the road and carefully snuck to the front of his car. Carrie and Michael Myers were definitely still going at it. It might have been an amusing fight to watch if there weren't more important matters to attend to. Carrie would look victorious after having tossed Myers through the air or impaling him on a tree branch, but then he would shrug it off as a nuisance and keep coming.

"I wish I could see how this ends," Dean said wistfully as he looked carefully at the old road. If he concentrated enough (and with his little brother's life at stake, he easily could), he could see footprints. There were his tracks, coming from the driver's side of the car twice, and Sam's coming from the passenger side three times. Then they chatted while Carrie came up behind them.

No, those tracks were far too big to be Carrie's. Besides, it hadn't happened like that. Carrie had stayed at her car and the brothers went to her. They most certainly hadn't gotten in and out of the car twice, and in spite of how uncomfortable he had been, Sam hadn't done it three times. So there had to have been two people that took Sam. And all three sets of tracks went into the forest.

His gaze followed the direction of the tracks, and he noted that, only a few steps away, his brother's tracks disappeared. Obviously they hadn't left him here, so whoever had taken the youngest Winchester had immobilised him and carried him. That at least would explain why Dean hadn't heard anything. And while the idea of his little brother being helpless in the hands of . . . whoever or whatever had taken him made Dean's worry shoot up, the knowledge that he needed to save Sam took over.

He had no idea where he was going or who he would run into, or even if he would be lucky enough to stumble across the people who had abducted his brother, but Dean knew he had to try. He turned on his heel and headed into the trees.

-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --

"Who's there?" Sam called out. He waited in silence for a while, both hoping for a response and terrified that he might actually get one. When he realised no one was going to answer him, he shrugged. What was he doing, anyway? It wasn't in his nature to be so nervous, especially when he didn't know who or what he was fighting. He was a Winchester, for crying out loud! He decided to go out into the hallway and face the problem head on. No matter what happened, at least he would theoretically either be that much closer to an exit, or he'd be dead. In his experience, there wasn't a lot of middle ground in these situations.

Sam got almost five feet from the doorway when he heard a sound that made his blood run cold. Yes, the maniacal laughter earlier had been creepy, but this was much worse. This was the sound of a chainsaw starting up. "Please don't be Jason Voorhees again," he murmured.

At that moment, the man holding the chainsaw stepped fully into the door of the room, and Sam swallowed reflexively. "I've never seen this movie, but I think I know you," he said, addressing the large man that stood before him. Yes, the man was big, both tall and muscular. But the most disturbing part about him was his face. It looked very wrong, almost as though his skin wasn't actually his. It looked sewn and scarred in many places. It was a mask. Of skin. Human skin.

"You must be Leatherface," Sam continued, pleasantly surprised at the distinct lack of terror in his voice. "And my day just got a whole lot worse."

Again, there was no verbal response. However, there was plenty of body language. Leatherface revved his chainsaw and started forward. Sam barely dodged the attack and dove forward, finding himself near the door and running into the hallway quickly.

"Why can't you be slow like Michael and Jason and Freddy?" he growled to himself, heart pounding as he searched frantically for a way out as he ran into a parlor-type room. He was about to go through a window when he saw first that it was on the second story (he believed the fall would have been preferable to being sliced up) and also that the old man he'd been talking to earlier was standing on the ground with a loaded shotgun. Sam elected to find another way out, and turned back the way he had come, only to find himself once again face to face with the man from Texas Chainsaw Massacre. He tried to sidestep the attack at the last second, and dropped to the ground in agony when he felt the chainsaw touch his thigh, tearing his pants and spraying blood everywhere.

The sight of his own blood on Leatherface's mask of skin incited Sam. He hooked one arm backwards and his hand closed around the leg of a small table. Using his other arm to get a solid grip, he threw the table at his attacker and crawled to his feet, running the other way without pausing to look back. All he knew was that the chainsaw was still going and that meant he still needed to be running.

His exploits took him down a set of stairs, through the dining area, where he found a table full of what looked like an interrupted meal. It looked suspiciously like chili in the bowls, and having seen Texas Chainsaw Massacre, Sam shuddered at the thought of the "food" there, avoiding it like the plague. His attention turned as he went into the kitchen and saw the messy counter top, where he found, among other things, a knife and some matches. He didn't take the time to gather any other supplies. Instead, he ripped open a door, jumped inside the room, and slammed the door after him.

The younger Winchester found himself in a dark basement. He pulled out the matches he'd stolen and lit one, trying to see everything he could quickly before his fingers were burnt. The first thing he noticed was blood. And gore. And pieces of flesh.

"Gross," he murmured.

Then he noticed the large hooks hanging from the ceiling.

"This is ridiculous," Sam muttered to himself. "Why do sociopaths always have meat hooks in their homes? Normal people just don't do that!"

He took a few more steps and stopped. "Well, duh," he continued aloud. "Obviously he's a sociopath, and not normal. Hence the need for meat hooks."

He paused. "Oh, great. I'm talking to myself."

The fire on the match singed his skin and he jumped as the match fell out of his hand. He had no idea if Leatherface knew where he was, but he figured the only exit to the basement was that stairwell, and he wasn't quite ready to go back up there yet. Sam wanted to sit, rest, and figure out what to do next. He wanted to see if Dean was still charming that creepy Carrie girl and he wanted to find out who the other guy was from his vision.

Clearly he had discovered who was kidnapping the poor people whose cars mysteriously died on that stretch of road. Of course, that made little difference at the moment. What would actually be helpful would be some sort of weapon besides the knife. Judging from the pieces of human skin that covered him, Leatherface probably wouldn't feel threatened by blade. A gun or a rocket launcher or even a cannon would be cool.

And there, in the thick darkness of the basement, Sam heard two noises that froze him in fear. One was the sound of the door above opening up. The other was a human snicker – and it came from somewhere close to where he was standing.

-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --

NOTE: Hey, folks! Sorry about the cliffhanger. It sort of snuck up on me, much like it did to Sam and probably most of you. And I couldn't find a better place to end the chapter, so here we are. By the way, I apologise that I didn't reunite the brothers. Next chapter – and I'm serious this time! I promise to try to get another chapter out as soon as I can!


	6. Chapter 6

It was a surprisingly short time before Dean happened on a large clearing with an enormous house sitting dead center. It looked vaguely familiar to him but he couldn't place it right off and didn't want to waste the precious time he could instead use looking for Sam. So he elected to head inside and see if anyone there knew where his brother was.

He had scarcely taken three steps forward when he saw a man with a shotgun standing by one of the windows, looking inside in a very menacing manner. Dean froze in his tracks and let his eyes rest on the man for a few seconds before flicking to the window, where he could see his brother inside, turning to run away from the glass. The elder hunter's gaze went back to the man. He easily recognised this man and therefore knew why the house was so familiar to him. This movie had given him nightmares for a week when he first saw it. Poor Sam had been too scared to fall asleep long enough to even have nightmares for three days.

Not good. Sam was probably being hunted by Leatherface at that very moment, and Dean wanted to rescue his brother, but had no idea how to go about it. Having seen the movie, he knew everyone involved with this house were either cannibals or eaten by them. Neither sounded like pleasant options. He would have to very carefully forma plan. But first, he would commandeer a few more weapons from his car. An extra gun and a lot of ammunition couldn't hurt, right?

He retraced his steps to the road and stopped again, shocked. Michael Myers and Carrie had both disappeared. Whether they had finished fighting or just migrated to a more enticing location, Dean figured in the end he still couldn't spare the time to ponder it, and went to arm himself, shrugging the alarm bells in his head off.

He had just stuffed some spare rounds into his pocket and was reaching for another gun when he saw movement out of the corner of his eye and instinctively jumped back, whirling toward the new threat. However, he was too late – Michael Myers grabbed him and threw him into Carrie's car. He flew all the way over the car and tried to twist so he'd land on his feet. Ultimately, he was successful in this endeavor, but he felt his recently healed ankle crack and then crumble under his weight as he collapsed.

Before he could recover, Myers was on him again, this time tossing him into a nearby tree. He put an arm out to shield his head and took the full force of the landing on his wrist. As he lay in a heap at the bottom of the tree and waited for Michael Myers to come kill him, Dean pondered how ironic it was that he was injured in the very same places he had been only months before when the first nightmarish movie villain fiasco had happened.

Myers had his knife arm raised and was about to bring it down on the hapless Winchester when suddenly, a rock hit the villain's hand and the knife fell to the ground. Both Dean and Myers glanced over to where Sam crashed through the trees , reaching down to haul his brother up without slowing. "Ankle's busted," Dean warned when the younger hunter attempted to drag him forward. Sam did no more than roll his eyes before dumping his older brother over his shoulder and continuing on.

"Hey!" Dean objected loudly.

"Sorry, Dean," Sam responded through panting breaths, not sounding the least bit contrite. "We have bigger things to worry about than your pride."

The two made it to the Impala seconds later, and Sam opened the driver's side door, unceremoniously dropped his brother as far in as he could, and slid into the seat. Dean had pulled the keys out, realising they would want a quick getaway, and the younger hunter had the car speeding down the abandoned road in no time.

For quite a while, there was complete silence except for the harsh breaths that both Sam and Dean were taking. And then Dean looked his brother over. Sam was bleeding from the leg and nose, had a massive bruise across one side of his face, and seemed to be favoring his ribs. That didn't count any of the injuries he was actually trying to hide, and who knew how many of those there could be? It was quite obvious that a disturbing amount of adrenalin was the only thing keeping Sam awake and alert.

"I thought you were trapped in that house," Dean said, breaking the uncomfortable silence.

"I was."

"Leatherface doesn't let people out."

"And believe me when I tell you that he and his family weren't very thrilled about making an exception in my case. In fact, they may be plotting some sort of revenge."

"Revenge?"

"I did say that, didn't I? Anyway, we need to be somewhere else." Sam paused and risked a glance at his passenger. "How did you know about the house?"

"I was coming to rescue you," Dean grumbled.

Sam snorted a laugh at that – further proof that he probably shouldn't be operating any machinery more complicated than a toaster. Normally he wouldn't have found that funny at all. "What happened to Carrie?"

"I have no idea."

"You just ditched her?"

"Dude, she could have killed me! Why would I have stuck around?"

"I thought you were totally taken by her charm," Sam answered, almost grinning. "And how did you let Michael Myers show up?"

"Let Michael Myers show up?"

"Seriously, Dean – I get kidnapped by a few psychotic cannibals for a few minutes and you let everything go to pot."

"I can't believe you're insinuating that this could even remotely be my fault . . ."

"We should take a quick break at the motel and then go somewhere. How about a vacation?" Sam said, as though Dean hadn't even started talking. "We haven't gone anywhere for fun in a while. Didn't you want to go to Vegas a while back?"

"We can't just leave, Sam. We have to stop these people!"

"Yeah, because that worked out so well last time."

"So you want to run away?"

"Why do I have to keep repeating things? Do you have a concussion?"

This time it was Dean's turn to snort. "No, but I think you do." He let his eyes roam over his little brother again as a strange thought occurred to him. "Hey, Sam – did you happen to notice all the places you were injured?"

"Well, I was a bit busy at the time," came the hurried response, "but I do remember that one of them happened in the hall, and two in the basement. I was pretty good once I got outside."

"No, I mean the places on your body. I think you were injured in the same places you were last time."

"There was never a last time. I'd remember if I had ever been in that house before."

The elder hunter raised an eyebrow at this statement. Sam's adrenalin was wearing off, and the kid looked like he was going to collapse. He kept blinking as though trying to clear his vision, one hand staying put on his rib cage. The more Dean looked at his brother, the more he was concerned that Sam shouldn't be driving. They were liable to crash. Luckily, they pulled in to their motel around that time. The younger Winchester managed to park and turn the car off before slumping down in his seat, head rolling back.

"Sam," Dean said, knowing they needed to be inside but also knowing he couldn't carry his brother with his ankle in its current predicament. Sam groaned in answer but didn't move. "Sammy!" Dean said louder.

"Whaddaya want?" came the grumbled reply.

"Let's get you inside. You have to help me."

"Mmpfh."

"Sam, I'm serious. We have to go inside."

No answer. Dean quirked an eyebrow and then smirked as a gloriously cruel idea came to him. "Sam, is that Pennywise?" he asked.

The younger brother's eyes snapped open and he was out of the car in less than one second, glancing around in complete terror. Upon realising Dean was messing with him, he slammed the car door and moved around to help his brother. "Never joke about that," he warned. "It's not funny."

"I've never seen you move that fast," Dean said with an evil grin. "That was awesome!"

Sam dragged Dean out of the car and toward their room with a lot more force than he needed, slamming the door behind them. He dumped the older hunter on the bed nearest to the door and then flopped on his stomach onto the other bed, eyes drooping immediately.

"No way," Dean growled. "We have to patch you up a bit."

"G'way."

"Nope. You probably need stitches again."

"Nnnnnnnaah."

Ignoring his throbbing ankle and aching wrist, Dean hobbled to his little brother and gently shook him. "I have no idea what that means," he said. "You're going to have to speak English. Now sit up so I can take a look at you."

In his defense, Sam tried to sit up. He moved once and then gave up the effort, finding the darkness around him a lot more welcoming.


	7. Chapter 7

Dean could always pinpoint the very second when Sam was either asleep or unconscious. Truthfully, at this moment he couldn't tell which it was, but he knew his little brother was no longer awake. He shook his head at the situation, then gently rolled Sam over to assess the damage. Blood seeped constantly from a wound on his leg, though his nose had thankfully stopped bleeding. Cuts, scrapes, and bruises covered most of Sam's face. Dean lifted up his brother's shirt to check his ribs and stifled a gasp when he saw the bruising across the torso. A cursory check revealed that there were, indeed, several ribs at least cracked.

They were going to need a doctor for the broken ankle. Sam would probably be fine with the usual patch job, but Dean knew he'd be needing a cast, which made him murmur obscenities under his breath. He'd only just barely gotten the last one off! Stupid Michael Myers!

Feeling better now that he had someone (or something, at least) to blame the situation on, Dean was surprisingly more able to help Sam. The first aid kit was in the car, and it was a long, painful trip out to get it, but he managed. Then he was able to put twelve stitches in his brother's leg (which looked like it had been sliced by a chainsaw), wrap up the ribs, and put a cold compress on some of the bruising. He even used a light to check Sam's eyes. They were sluggish and unequal but reactive, and pretty good proof of a concussion.

Once that was taken care of, the elder hunter fished out Sam's laptop and readied himself to do a little research. Last time, Sam hadn't approved of Dean's use of the IMDB, but it had been helpful in the end. And hey, the kid couldn't complain – he'd called Bobby and made himself sound inebriated by rambling on about Freddy Krueger, Jason Voorhees, and Michael Myers.

"I knew we should have chopped them up into little pieces and then salted and burned each one," Dean muttered aloud as he thought about their last encounter. "Now we have to figure out how to kill Myers again."

"Nomyfault," Sam unconsciously groaned.

"How did you even manage to get away?" Dean asked, knowing Sam wouldn't answer him yet. "You have the most uncanny ability to extract yourself from impossible situations. Then again, you always need help getting away from easy situations." He shook his head again, turning back to the computer.

In spite of his good intentions and best efforts, Dean was asleep in a matter of minutes. He awoke to a situation far different than he had expected. He found himself in the Impala, and looked over to see Sam driving. His eyes wandered over his wrapped wrist and then down to his leg, where he found a cast on his ankle.

"PINK?!" he shouted, enraged by the horrible thing holding his bones together.

"You were unconscious," Sam replied with a nonchalant shrug. "How was I supposed to know what color you wanted?"

"I hate you," Dean grumbled, feeling defeated already because he had no energy to fight back. "How long was I out?"

"I don't know for sure. I woke up, waited around for an hour, and decided to get the ankle taken care of. You should be grateful; it was a clean break."

"I don't suppose you thought to get yourself checked out while we were there?"

"Of course not. I'm fine. Somebody apparently fixed up my wounds while I was asleep. I just thought I'd return the favor."

Dean swore softly and then watched the scenery going by. "Are we done with Myers, Carrie, and Leatherface? You seem awfully calm."

"Yes, well, I think I'm about to have a very understandable nervous breakdown," Sam said with an even voice. "But no, we're not done with them. We're going to have to kill them."

"I thought you wanted to go to Vegas."

"I wasn't thinking clearly."

"I place a lot more faith in the guy who wants to run away from three horror movie villains than the guy who would rather stick around and get beaten up some more!"

Wrinkling his nose a bit, Sam said, "I don't suppose now is a good time to point out the nitty gritty details, but technically there are a lot more than three."

"Wha?"

"Leatherface's entire family was in on it in the movie. Didn't you see that one?"

Dean's eyes narrowed in disbelief. "You're right; now is really not a good time for you to point that out."

They pulled into the motel parking lot, and Sam turned off the car but didn't get out. "I've got a plan this time," he announced.

"Really? This should be good."

"Well, you're going to have to distract Carrie–"

"No way," Dean interrupted. "I was the distraction the whole time last time and I hated it."

"We got the job done, didn't we?"

"Apparently not! Michael Myers is back!"

The younger Winchester rolled his eyes. "It could be worse! At least Freddy Krueger and Jason Voorhees aren't on the loose again!"

The eyes on both hunters doubled in size, and they sat contemplating this last comment for a few tense seconds. Finally, Sam said, "I didn't really just say that out loud, did I?"

"Yup."

He sighed. "I'm sorry, Dean. I think I just jinxed us. And what's worse is that I still can't figure out who the guy in my vision was."

"It's okay," Dean replied with an equal sigh. "After all, you're concussed. I shouldn't expect anything out of you."

"Hey!"

"Seriously, dude – let's just get some rest. We both need it if we're going to win this battle."

They got out of the car and headed into the room. As Dean pulled the key card out of his pocket and started to put it in the lock, he looked up at his brother and smirked. "Last chance for Vegas?"

Sam smiled, shook his head, and went inside, dropping heavily onto the bed closest to the door. He took the time to roll onto his less-painful side and then was out almost instantly. Dean fully intended to stay up and watch – again – but couldn't. In the end, they both fell asleep within minutes.

Sam awoke first, finding Dean's "research" on his computer. Well, the IMDB (or his brother's large stash of useless movie trivia) had been helpful last time, so it was worth a shot. He went through each movie, any sequels or books, director's comments, and possible methods of killing the characters off. He'd made a decent list of all of his findings by the time Dean groaned, rolled over, and then sat up.

"I think I fell asleep," he mumbled.

Sam permitted himself a grin. "I think you did."

The elder Winchester's quick eyes noted the computer and he motioned toward it with his head. "Find anything?"

"Yeah, actually. I found out a lot about creating horror movies –"

"How to kill them, Sam," Dean urged impatiently.

"Right. Well, here's the best news I've got for you: Leatherface, and his entire family, are perfectly mortal. That means that theoretically, anything should be able to take them down. As long as we go in with an actual weapon, we should be fine."

"Theoretically? Should? Sam, I hate to be picky at a time like this, but I need more to go on than that."

Sam huffed. "Dean, what do you want? It's not like anyone has ever recorded coming up against these people in a nonfictional setting. They're not supposed to be real. That means all we have is theory until we try it out."

"Fine. What about Carrie?"

"Theoretically, Carrie is also mortal – just a misguided, angry, emotionally unstable teenager. She shouldn't be hard to kill, either, as long as we can get close to her or get off a good shot before she uses her telekinetic powers to decimate us."

"And Myers?"

"I have no clue. I'm still working on that. I'm pretty sure everything imaginable has been tried before and he doesn't stay dead."

"We never got to chop him up into little pieces and salt and burn each one."

"That's at the top of the list, then," Sam said, shrugging. "And after that, we'll go with decapitation because, if nothing else, it at least put him out of commission for a while."

Dean nodded and stood. "What's first, then?"

"We have to go back and separate them. It would probably be best to start with Leatherface's family, since they are the most numerous threat."

The older hunter grabbed his gun from where he'd tossed it on the night stand and checked the clip in it. "Let's do it, then."


	8. Chapter 8

"Do you have your knife on you?" Dean whispered to his brother's back as they quietly snuck through the trees late at night. "You'll need it if you want to –"

"I know, Dean," Sam snapped back, managing to sound affronted even while he whispered. "That's the fourth time you asked me, and yes, I have it. Don't ask again."

It was dark when they arrived back at the abandoned road. They decided it would be easier for them to slaughter a house full of people in the dark than in the daylight. In retrospect, Sam found this idea to be stupid, since it was home turf for the crazy cannibals and they loved a good chase. But since they were already there, they might as well make the most of it.

"Well, you never checked, and I just want to make sure you didn't forget it," the elder hunter said.

"Since when did you become a nag?"

Dean glared like a child and said nothing. With a grin signaling his verbal win, Sam turned back to the clearing and house, which was right in front of them. "We should split up so we can take out more of them. I don't know exactly how many there are, but there were a whole lot of them in the movie and I met more than my share during my short visit."

"We're not splitting up, Sam."

"Dean, we need to cover more ground. The faster they find out we're here, the faster they band together to try to kill us."

"I know. But look what happened last time we got split up."

"What, when you were flirting with a psychotic teenaged girl?"

Having no response to that, either, Dean glared again. "Your lack of witty comebacks is disturbing," Sam muttered. "Usually you have a long list of them on the tip of your tongue. Are you sure you're up to this?"

"Says the man with the concussion and broken ribs."

"Ah, look – a feeble attempt at a witty comeback. At least I know something's still going on in that head of yours."

Suddenly, a light came on in the house. Sam, who had taken three steps forward, stopped dead in surprise, his brother crashing into him from behind. "Watch where you're going!" he hissed.

"What's your problem? You should never stop without warning the people behind you."

"I'm sorry," the younger Winchester growled, his sarcasm betraying his apology. "I figured the gimp with the broken ankle wouldn't be invading my personal space!"

"Gimp?? Sam, that's low, even for–"

They both stopped when the sound of a chainsaw starting filled the air . . . way too close. Eyes wide, they looked in the direction it was coming from and saw only the trees.

"Maybe we should go back to the car for tonight and come here again tomorrow," Sam suggested quietly.

"Tell me we're close to the car," Dean answered.

"Tell me that's not a chainsaw."

"That's not a chainsaw."

"Then we're close to the car," Sam whispered back. At Dean's look of disgust, he shrugged. "You lie to me, I lie to you. You told me that before, remember?"

Dean shook his head as if to clear unwanted memories out, and then turned back the way he had come. He had gone only a short way when a tall, dark, foreboding figure who definitely had a mask made out of skin stepped in front of him brandishing the lawn care tool he was coming to hate so much.

"Uh – Sam?" he asked.

Said brother suddenly bumped into his back, sending them both to the ground. "Now who needs to watch where they're going?" Dean ground out while his little brother hauled him back to his feet.

"Yell at me later, but for now, go to the car."

The elder hunter took one look back toward the house and saw three men with shotguns and hungry faces coming at them. He turned toward Leatherface and realised what Sam was talking about. "How do we get around them?"

"I'll be a temporary distraction while you run."

"I hate that plan."

Sam characteristically huffed and then shoved his shorter brother unceremoniously in the direction of the Impala. "Haven't we had this conversation before? I don't care. Hobble in that general direction, please."

"I don't hobble!" Dean snapped indignantly.

"Then stumble, or stagger, or gracefully limp, but do it NOW!"

With that, both brothers immediately went into motion, running in opposite directions. Sam ripped out his knife, holding it in his free hand while he clutched his favorite gun in the other. Running blindly through a dark forest with both hands full was a bad idea in the daytime. Doing it at night while being chased by cannibals was beyond suicidal, and the younger Winchester knew it.

"You're an idiot, Sam," he panted out loud as he ran, not really paying attention to where he was going.

It was then that he realised all four of their pursuers were following him, probably to get revenge for his escape earlier. While that was originally what he'd intended, he soon found out he didn't especially like the idea.

-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --

Dean hadn't gone very far toward his car when he noticed he wasn't being followed. Good for him, bad for Sam. And even though he was injured, his brother was, too. Saving Sam was just what he did, regardless of his own health. So, rolling his eyes, he trudged back toward the sounds of mayhem that he was sure were the direct result of something his little brother was doing. One day, the kid would be the death of him. The irony of how literally he could take that oft-used saying dawned on Dean, but he pushed it out of his mind because he had other things to do at the moment.

He heard the gunshots before he saw the scene. Luckily, the sound and visual weren't separated by more than three seconds, which is why Dean didn't have time to panic. The bullets had not come from a shotgun, so obviously Sam had been the one doing the shooting. Dean actually figured his brother probably had things under control until he came around a tree just in time to see Sam dodge the chainsaw, which then hit one of the crazy family members behind him. Without pausing, the younger hunter rolled sideways and got to his feet, heading straight for the spot where Dean was standing, trying to figure out what to do.

"You're supposed to be hobbling the other way!" he shouted, clutching Dean's upper arm like it was his life support and continuing on without slowing down. Dean found himself being dragged along, limping painfully and quickly to keep up. He must have been providing too much resistance against his brother's hand, because Sam stopped and threw him over his shoulder.

Dean tried to make his abhorrence of their current position known vocally, but the bony shoulder sticking into his stomach made it hard to take a decent breath. He settled for using his thumb and middle finger to flick Sam's ear from the back.

"Ow!" the younger Winchester growled, not slowing down or showing any intentions of stopping. "Cut it out, idiot!"

Thankfully, they had parked in the same spot as before, and it wasn't far from the clearing where the house was. Sam surprised his older brother by dumping him on the driver's side of the car and hurrying to his usual seat. "What, you aren't stealing my car, too?" Dean huffed as he got in and drove away.

When there was no answer forthcoming, he looked to his right and found Sam huddled in a pathetic little ball on the passenger side of the car, head rolled back between the seat and the door. "Sam?" he asked tentatively.

"I knew I'd probably pass out at the wheel," came the slurred answer.

Dean grinned in spite of the situation . . . or, more likely, because he was driving _away_ from the situation. "You're an idiot."

"I couldn't agree more."

"That's it?"

"Whaddya want?"

Sam wasn't going to be conscious much longer. Dean heard him take a deep breath and let it out with a whoosh that made his entire body go limp. Yep, he was out.

"At least you took a few of them out with you, bro," Dean muttered, knowing he would somehow have to get Sam into the motel room when they arrived. The poor kid had probably pulled stitches. AGAIN.

So intent was he on figuring out how to help his brother that Dean didn't notice the car behind him, following his Impala all the way back to what he thought was a sanctuary.

-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --

NOTE: I made a few accidental references to As Seen on TV in this chapter. I say accidental because I honestly didn't mean to do it. It just fit so well. I'm sure it might still be amusing to people who haven't read the other one, but it might mean more if you do. And that's all I have to say about that.

Also, thanks to everyone who is reading, and thank you especially to those who review. Your comments inspire me more than you know!


	9. Chapter 9

He'd intended to stay up all night staring at his brother, counting his breaths and making sure they were even. He had wanted to check his brother's temperature and pulse every twenty minutes. He might even have had the desire to watch some of those horrific late night shows on tv. Unfortunately, Dean Winchester fell asleep before he could do any of those things. He must have been getting careless.

In spite of that, he woke up first, finding Sam in the exact same uncomfortable position he'd been in when Dean had dropped him on the bed in the middle of the night. He shook his head and rolled to a sitting position before stumbling over to the other bed and shaking Sam's shoulder gently.

Surprisingly, the younger hunter woke up almost immediately, rolled off the bed, and shot to his feet with an audible groan. He hurriedly got his back to a wall, hands planted on either side of him for support. His eyes wildly scanned the room as his chest heaved for breath, and finally his gaze locked on his brother's. "Don't EVER bring up Pennywise again," he snarled.

Dean was shocked. "Sam, I didn't–"

"You did. And it gives me horrific nightmares. Don't EVER do that again. EVER."

With a snort of amusement, Dean responded, "Speaking of things we should never do again, don't try throwing me over your shoulder a third time. You'll regret it."

"I was saving your life."

"Some things are more important than living."

"Your level of pride is disgusting. But hey, next time you need saving and that's the only way to do it, I'll let you die."

"I'll try to find less nightmare-inducing ways to wake you up."

It wasn't much, but it was as close to a truce as Winchesters would ever get. They almost smiled at each other before moving on to their plans for the day. "Whatever happened to Carrie?" Sam asked as the two went to a nearby café for breakfast. "Her car was gone when we went back the second time. Do you think she left?"

"She didn't seem like the type to totally lose her temper and then just walk away from it all. But I can't believe you're worried about where she is, when Michael Myers is still on the loose."

"Well aware of that, Dean. Maybe we should just count our blessings and work on getting rid of the cannibals who tried to kill us last night."

Dean leaned back in his chair, making extra room for the steaming plates of eggs, bacon, pancakes, waffles, fruit, sausage, omelet, french toast, bagels, and hash browns that were being brought. His cup of coffee was handed to him since there was no more room on his side of the table. Sam lifted his elbows up to allow his plate of two eggs and some fruit. "I still think we should go to Vegas," Dean muttered as he dug in to his waffles.

Sam made an attempt at amused acknowledgment before picking at his fruit. "No can do. I've had that stupid chainsaw waved in my face about twenty too many times."

"Twenty?"

"I was in that house, Dean. And it wasn't a pleasant experience."

"Yeah, about that – what happened, exactly?"

"Did you ever see the movie?"

Yeah."

"Then you pretty much know what happened. Unpleasant. I don't know how to make it any more clear to you than that."

Dean paused in his gluttony to take a good look at his brother. "Fair enough. So what do you suggest?"

"Have you ever seen the Matrix?"

Eyes impossibly wide, Dean said, "Please tell me you didn't have a vision about –"

"No visions," Sam interrupted with a small smile. "I was just talking about the scene in the lobby with all of the guns."

"Ooo-kay . . ."

"My current plan is to get every single gun we own and go in there shooting."

There was a long silence as this was digested. Dean stared, blinking occasionally. "Are you feeling all right?"

"I swear, you have _got_ to stop asking me that."

"You generally don't want to arm yourself and go around shooting everything that moves."

No more chainsaw. I hate that thing. Plus, I hate being tossed around by Michael Myers. And I have a headache."

"You're not having a vision, are you?"

"I don't know. I'm tired and I've hit my head a few more times than I think is considered safe. I just want this to be over so we can go back to hunting normal things like normal people."

There was another silence. "Hunting normal things like normal people?" Dean repeated dumbly.

"It sounded better in my head than it did out loud," Sam admitted with a sheepish look. "Let's just do it and be done."

"What about Carrie and Myers?"

I have a feeling they'll make themselves known before we're done."

-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --

Dean and Sam had finished breakfast, taken a lot of painkillers, armed themselves with every weapon they owned, and headed back out to Leatherface's territory before noon. The road was still abandoned; there was no sign of Carrie or Michael Myers. Eventually, Dean relented and decided to chalk it up to a very rare bout of good fortune.

The two managed, in daylight, to get up close to the house. Apparently, the family wasn't looking for them at this point. Either that, or they were trying to regroup from the two that had been killed the night before. Sam leaned up to the window of the dining room and peered in, pulling back quickly at what he saw.

Uh oh," he whispered.

What?" Dean asked, trying to see around him.

"They're eating a meal. At the table."

"So?"

"They're cannibals, Dean. Think about it."

"Gross," the elder Winchester responded once his brain supplied him with what Sam was referring to. "Well, let's get them while they're distracted."

"I think that's Carrie's dress," Sam continued, peeking in again to see a pile of white material on the ground near the table.

"What?? Are they _eating_ Carrie?"

"I'm just telling you what I see!" the younger hunter snapped in a harsh whisper. "There's about four of them at the table. Leatherface isn't with them."

"I can't believe they're eating Carrie . . ."

"He's probably downstairs."

" . . . like she was an animal or something . . ."

This is really good. We can take them all at once."

" . . . I mean, she wasn't the nicest girl I've ever met, but . . ."

"Dean!" Sam hissed, thumping his brother on the shoulder. "Now isn't the time! You can mourn for your dead, overly emotional, uptight, telekinetic, murdering girlfriend later!"

It went against everything he stood for and everything inside of him, but Dean Winchester somehow managed to not make a rude comment to that. He also managed to not inflict violence on his brother. He was pretty proud of himself, actually.

"I'm going in through the front," Sam continued. "You can go in through the back. We'll meet up in the kitchen or dining area."

"Are we going in quietly?"

"No, dude. They're going to hear us the second we come in. Rip open the door and start firing. Just don't shoot me. And try not to get yourself shot."

"Worry about yourself, kiddo," Dean shot back.

Smirking, Sam turned to go toward the front door. "Hurry up. They're not going to be eating all day. She wasn't a large girl." And with that, he was gone around the side of the house.

Dean looked at the spot he had recently vacated, shook his head, took a deep breath, and turned to go in the back door as a thought hit him. He hadn't been in the house. Sure, he could find the back door, but then what? He didn't know where he was going like Sam did. The whole thing would probably be over before he even found the dining room. "Sam!" he whispered loudly to his absent brother. He didn't expect a response, so it didn't surprise him when there wasn't one. He took another deep breath and headed toward where he thought the back door would be. It was in his sights when he heard gunshots start. He was reaching for it when all hell broke lose inside. And his hand was on it when he suddenly flew backward and landed on the ground. Stunned, he could only look up as a shadow loomed over him. His heart dropped as he realised who it was.

"Looking for someone, Dean?" Carrie asked with a wicked look in her eyes.

-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --

NOTE: Reviews have tapered off a lot (don't worry, this isn't a shameless plea for you to review the story), so I figured there must generally be less of an interest in this story. I'm going to try to wrap it up quickly. But first, a special thanks to sweetysmart0505, Ghostwriter, JuliaAurelia and friendly! You've been really consistent and I appreciate it!


	10. Chapter 10

Sam went through the door and was halfway across the house before anyone realised he was there. By then, he had a gun in each hand and looked more like a suicidal cowboy than his normal reserved self. Not that that mattered to him. With three well-placed shots and six not-so-well-placed shots, he took down the first person that came after him. Dean still hadn't shown up, but he really didn't have the time nor the spare energy to look for his brother at the moment. Instead, he concentrated on taking out the entire family of people.

To his surprise, only one of the four of them managed to get their gun up and aimed before he dropped them. He wasn't an especially quick shot, but his adrenalin was pumping on overtime at that moment and that was very helpful to him. The whole thing was over in less than two minutes. Sam took a steadying breath and finally entered the dining room itself. He pushed Carrie's dress with his toe and then said aloud, "Hmph . . . it's just old drapes. Boy, was I wrong. I guess that means we still have to find and take care of her."

It was then that he decided to head into the basement to look for Leatherface. So he went straight for the door, putting a gun away only long enough to pull it open and head down the stairs. The door slammed behind him, not only alerting anyone down there that he was coming, but plunging the basement into darkness again. Bad idea? Yep. Stupid? Sure. Self-destructive? Probably. But he was seriously sick of people waving chainsaws in his face. It had to stop.

-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --

In a sick twist of fate that Dean didn't care to ever admit to his brother, Carrie went down like a sack of rocks once he had the presence of mind to shoot her. She apparently was mortal. Go figure. "That was anti-climactic," he mumbled.

Dean turned his attention back to the house and staggered to his feet. The shooting inside had stopped. Either Sam had somehow taken out the entire family or they had taken out the hunter. And either way, Dean wanted to be in there helping. He headed for the door when he felt a laser-sharp pain rip across the back of his shoulder and he collapsed to the ground, rolling sideways and back to his feet to face whatever had sliced him. Once his vision honed in on the person before him, he rolled his eyes.

"You have got to be freaking kidding me!" he shouted as loud as he could to Michael Myers. For kicks, and to alleviate some of the stress he was currently experiencing, he emptied his entire clip of bullets into Myers, pulled out another gun, and emptied that one. Myers flinched, twitched, and eventually fell to the ground from the shots, but Dean didn't care. He kept shooting, knowing Myers would get back up and be even more angry than before.

When his second gun ran out of bullets, Dean kept pulling the trigger in a maniacal way, listening to the click of the empty chambers. And at some point during that, he heard a very loud crash, some gunshots, and then a chainsaw from inside the house. He turned to look, hearing a series of thumps, more gunshots, a shouted, "Holy crap!" in his brother's familiar voice, and two doors slamming before Sam came flying through the large window in the dining room. The younger hunter hit the ground hard, rolling back to his feet with his gathered velocity and turned to start shooting again as Leatherface following him out.

Dean took a step toward his brother when his good leg was ripped out from under him and he joined Michael Myers on the ground. Kicking out with his bright pink cast, the elder Winchester only managed to knock the knife away but Myers' hand was still on his other ankle. He heard and felt a horrible crack and looked down, murmuring obscenities when he saw his cast was broken. Again.  
Sam, meanwhile, had noticed Carrie's body and his brother's struggle with Michael Myers in between his bouts of crazed shooting and jumping. Leatherface was significantly harder to kill than he'd anticipated. And now that he thought about it, going down in the basement really hadn't been a good idea to begin with.

"Uh, hey," he ground out while dodging the dreaded chainsaw. "Don't you want to eat that guy over there?"

Leatherface's head actually did swivel over to see Myers and Dean wrestling on the ground before turning back to his current prey. Then he let out a low, evil laugh that sent chills through Sam's entire body.

"I'll take that as a no, then," Sam said as he ran toward his brother. "Dean!"

"Not now," Dean panted, using his empty gun to beat Michael Myers on the head. Like the shots earlier, it wasn't doing any good, but it seemed to make him feel better.

"Want to switch? I don't want to play with mine any more."

Dean kicked out once more and freed himself, getting up and intercepting Leatherface's charge on Sam's retreating back. "Sure, sure. You take the immortal one. I got this guy."

Sam grinned, grateful to be reverting back to a familiar enemy, even knowing he couldn't kill the guy. He kept his grin as he heard gunshots from his brother, and then Dean shouted, "Why isn't he dying? I shot him!"

"What do you think I've been doing the whole time?" Sam snapped back, watching carefully as Michael Myers picked up his knife and got up again.

"How does he die?"

Sam shrugged. "He gets blown up in one of the movies. Want to try it?"

Dodging their respective enemies, Sam and Dean soon found themselves back to back in the small clearing. "We could. I mean, it worked in the movie, right?"

"Yeah," Sam panted. "How about you be a distraction while I go inside and prep the house."

"Prep the house for what?"

"Blowing it up."

"You're going to blow up the house?"

"Yeah. Now, keep them busy while I find stuff in there to use as a bomb."

"I always have to be the distraction!" Dean whined.

Sam grinned and risked a glance back at his brother. "What can I say? You're good at it. Now get ready."

In a sudden blur of motion, Sam jumped sideways and took off at a dead run for the house, diving through the broken window. Leatherface apparently had a personal vendetta against Sam, because he took off through the window before Dean could even consider stopping him. And Michael Myers obviously recognised the younger Winchester, because he lumbered after the other two into the house. Dean glanced around twice before rolling his eyes and hobbling after the group.

"Look out, Sam!" he shouted in warning. Just then, he had the first useful idea he'd had during this fiasco and headed the other way as quickly as possible.

Inside, Sam was frantically searching for something to use to make some sort of explosion. He heard Dean's shout and knew he was in trouble. He dropped one of his guns, hand searching through his pockets and finding the matches he originally stole from this very house. Shrugging and pulling one out, he lit it just as Leatherface came at him. He ducked under the chainsaw, and the match quickly started the cannibal's clothes on fire. This would have been a good thing had the man not then crashed down on top of him, lighting him on fire, as well. At least the chainsaw was not being used against him, having been tossed away when Leatherface hit him.

Luckily, Michael Myers had caught up by then and dragged Leatherface off the hunter. It wasn't clear at that point whether he wanted to kill Sam himself or wanted to kill Leatherface. And honestly, Sam didn't care. The point was that he was free, rolling sideways until he hit a wall to put the flames on his singed clothes out. Then he used the wall to climb painfully back to his feet, only then realising that Michael Myers was now on fire, too. Moments later, Dean called his name from the window, tossing in their canister of kerosene. Sam caught it with one hand, ripping the lid off, and tossed it at the struggling villains.

Before he could rethink it, Sam found himself spreading kerosene over as much of the house as he could. He ignored his brother's shouts and kept it up, moving backward toward the front door, where he had originally come in. The fire was spreading rapidly with his help. At that point, he honestly didn't care if Leatherface and Michael Myers died in the fire. All he wanted to do was get out and be somewhere else.

Coughing from smoke inhalation, Sam practically fell through the door and tumbled down the steps, landing neatly in his brother's arms. Dean had figured out what Sam was doing and ran to help. Together, they limped and staggered back to the car and collapsed wearily inside it. Just as Dean was starting the Impala, an explosion was heard from the clearing the house was in.

The Winchesters took off, going first to grab their meager belongings from the motel and then to look for a new place to get patched up. On their way to the nearest clinic, three towns over from their latest hunt, Dean glanced at his brother, sitting uncomfortably in the passenger seat of his beloved car, and said, "Do you think they died back there?"

"I don't know and I don't care."

There was a moment of silence before Dean announced, "You know, I think we should look up the name of the guy who invented chainsaws."

"Why in the world would you care?" Sam returned without looking up.

"I hate him. I hate his invention, and I hate the people who use it. I think we should go find his grave, dig it up, and salt and burn his bones."

Sam snorted his amusement. "All that because of two bad experiences with them?"

"You call Jason Voorhees and Leatherface 'bad experiences?' I call them a glimpse of Armageddon. Hell on earth. Dangers to humanity."

"And thus Dean Winchester waxes poetic," Sam muttered back. "Anyway, I wasn't arguing. I hate chainsaws, too. We should consider your suggestion."

"Now all we need to do is find out the guy's name–"

"Andreas Stihl," the younger hunter interrupted, still without meeting his brother's gaze.

Dean stopped, first in disbelief, then in shock. He glanced over at Sam twice before asking, "Are you sure?"

"Well, he's most often credited with having done it," came the response, as Sam finally tried to sit up and groaned with the effort. "There were models before it, but his is generally the 'modern' one, as they say. The only trouble is that he's German."

Dean's mouth was opening and closing as though he wanted to say something but couldn't find words to express himself. Finally, he got out, "Please tell me you didn't have that stored away in your brain somewhere."

"Of course not," Sam snapped. "I looked it up once we were done with Leatherface because I decided we might need to dig him up and salt and burn him."

Now it was Dean's turn to snort. "Seriously?"

"Do I look like I'm joking? I'm so sick of having those dumb things waved in my face!"

"I'm always guilty of underestimating you, Sammy," Dean said with a grin as they pulled into the clinic parking lot and got out of the car.

"It's Sam," came the involuntary correction. "And yes, you are," he added with a smirk.

After once again getting patched up and re-casted, the Winchesters drove away, hoping to put the town and the movie villains behind them for good. Dean looked around for a good place to stay, knowing he and his brother couldn't keep driving for very long in their current condition. Both of them were exhausted and in pain. After a few miles, he saw a sign on the side of the road for a motel and started to pull over.

"Keep driving," Sam growled from the passenger seat.

"Why? You need sleep."

Sam's head rolled over as though the concussion made him too dizzy to be moving. But when his eyes met the elder hunter's, Dean knew he was still completely alert. "Bates Motel?"

"Yeah," came the reply. "We need to recuperate."

"I'm not staying anywhere named the Bates Motel, especially after what we've just been through."

"Why not? What's wrong with it?"

Sam huffed characteristically and turned back to look out the window at the motel. "Guess you didn't see that movie," he murmured.

"What?"

"Just keep driving, Dean. Just keep driving."

-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --

NOTE: I elected to go with one more long chapter instead of two shorter ones to get it over with sooner. I hope you all enjoyed it! Thanks for reading!


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